


Damage Control

by Inell



Series: 2017 Prompt Challenge [35]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Stiles, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Musicians, Danny Mahealani & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Kissing, Lydia Martin & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Past Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Pining, Pop Star Jackson Whittemore, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9588302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: When Jackson’s habit of casual dating earns him the label of Casanova, his manager and best friend, Danny, suggests that he do a little damage control. Enter Stiles Stilinski, famous actor whose last two movies have apparently flopped. They already have a sarcastic flirting going on, so Jackson knows getting Stiles to fake date him is the best plan ever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mssmartian: Jackson/Stiles “i’m a pop star with a bad relationship rep and you’re a hot actor whose last two movies flopped, i think we can help each other out” fake dating au
> 
> For winning third place in my giveaway, I promised a fic of 500+ words. This one? Is a lot more than 500 words. Sorry? I hope you enjoy! Fic #35 in my 2017 Prompt Challenge

“You’ve got to do something about it, Jackson.”

“Like what?” Jackson takes a sip of his drink, frowning when the stupid umbrella bumps against his nose. He pulls it out of the glass and tosses it across the table at Danny. “You know how much I hate random shit in my drinks.”

“Which is why I always make sure to ask for an umbrella whenever I order you iced tea.” Danny smirks, and the bastard somehow manages to still look like a total sweetheart instead of an ass. It’s a skill that Jackson has never managed to master, even after thirteen years in the spotlight.

“I don’t know why I let you hang around me,” he mutters, looking at the clear sky overhead as if the wispy clouds might provide him with an answer.

“Let me?” Danny snorts and kicks his shin under the table. “I’m the only one who can tolerate you, Casanova.”

“Ugh. Don’t quote that crap at me.” Jackson grimaces and shoves the glossy magazine across the table. “What am I supposed to do? Do I even _need_ to do anything? It’s a couple of teen magazines who don’t seem to like the idea that I’m not settled down. Is it really going to impact my career?”

“Speaking as your manager? Yes, you need to do something. The people who buy the magazines are your fans, and they come to concerts and buy your music and T-shirts. If they start thinking you’re some creepy lothario instead of a hot guy with a serious relationship they can envy, it could hurt you.” Danny arches a brow. “And it isn’t just teen magazines, Jackson. You’ve been getting a pretty bad reputation since you and Lydia split.”

“That was seven years ago.” Jackson squeezes some more lemon into his tea then violently stirs the ice cubes because he can’t really risk being seen stabbing the table. There are paparazzi everywhere in LA, so he’s always on stage when he’s out in public. It’s one of the only negatives about being a world famous musician. There’s no privacy, his romantic life is gossip fodder, and he can’t even go out for a jog without realizing photos will end up on the internet somewhere.

“Yes, but you two were the Britney and Justin for our generation and the next,” Danny points out. “Pop royalty dating from age fifteen, engaged and planning to marry, the whole publicity train both sets of parents had you two on means that you’ll never be free of that relationship.”

“I’m hotter than Justin,” Jackson mutters, trying to sulk because Danny’s fucking right, and it’s so damn unfair that his first relationship ever is going to haunt him his entire life. Lydia isn’t affected by any of it, but that’s probably because she started a serious relationship within a year of their break-up, and she’s kept herself out of the press unless she’s winning awards for singing or producing. Jackson enjoys the spotlight too much to ever walk away from it, which is one reason they didn’t end up working out. They’re still really close friends, but they have to be super careful about getting together because one candid photo would stir up a lot of drama and lies about their relationships.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Danny teases, still totally in denial that Jackson is everyone’s type. The fact that it’s so easy to hook-up, even _without_ using his fame and money, is one of the reasons he indulges in casual relationships so often. He’s only twenty-eight, and he’s been touring the world since he was fourteen and handpicked to be part of Cosmos.

When the band broke up and he went solo seven years ago, he’s been doing even better. Able to branch out and write some of his own songs, experiment with his style, not rely on dancing and posturing the way band was forced to by the label. The fact that he’s still establishing himself as a solo artist is why Danny’s upset about the negative press he’s been receiving the last year or so. Jackson wishes he could blame it on his open bisexuality, but that’s been a thing since he split with Lydia, and the fans don’t care.

“What should I do about that shit?” he finally asks, his tone more serious than flippant. “I’ve got a tour scheduled to be announced in two months, and I can’t risk my revolving bedroom door impacting the ticket sales.”

“From what I’ve been able to discern on the blogs, most of your fans are worried about you. Lydia’s got a stable relationship, but you haven’t settled down with anyone since the break-up,” Danny says, giving Jackson a look. “They think you’re still not over her, so that’s why you put yourself in dangerous situations.”

“Dangerous situations?” Jackson snorts. “It’s called enjoying sex. Fuck, why do I have to live my life catered to a bunch of people who don’t even know me? I don’t know if it’s even worth it most the time.”

“Because those people support your lifestyle, and I’ve seen your car collection, so don’t even try telling me you don’t have one.” Danny manages to avoid the kick Jackson makes, but then he kicks Jackson in retaliation anyway. “Besides, you love your fans, even if you bitch so much trying to conceal that fact.”

“I do not. They’re shrieky and obnoxious and meddle in my love life.” Jackson does pout this time. “That doesn’t outweigh the amazing letters and squealing and excitement whenever I run into one, though. Damn it.”

“You need to get yourself a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend,” Danny says bluntly. “If you show that you’re getting serious about someone, the magazines and paps won’t be able to sensationalize anything, and your fans will calm down.”

“Ugh. Is that the only way?” Jackson makes a face. “There’s no way I’m ready to try settling down with anyone I’ve fucked during the past few months. I don’t even remember most of them. No one I fuck is settling down material, Danny.”

“That could be part of your problem,” Danny says bluntly. “Anyway, I don’t care how you do it, Jackson. You need to figure something out if you want to stop the negative gossip, though.” Danny looks at his watch and makes a face. “I have an appointment at one, so I’d better run. I’ll call you tonight, alright? We’ll figure something out.” He tosses some money on the table, which is pretty adorable because, seriously, who even carries cash anymore? “In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid? Me?” Jackson bats his eyelashes at Danny and smiles. “Don’t be late, Danny Boy.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to bypass stupid and go for full on disaster?” Danny mutters as he shakes his head and walks away.

Once Danny’s gone, Jackson picks at his salad and thinks about their conversation. He pulls one of the magazines over to him and flips through it. Looks like Kira Yukimura has a new moving coming out. Too bad she’s not single. He met her at a party once, and they got along pretty well. She’d probably have been willing to help him out.

Jackson stops mid-flip because he’s just had the lightbulb go off. Danny said he needs a significant other, but he didn’t say it had to actually be _real_. He could totally find someone else who needs a little publicity to help play a part for a few months. He lives in Hollywood, after all, which is full of actors and fake people.

Despite his romantic life being picked apart in the gossip columns, he’s got two current hits on Billboards Top 20, an album that’s been in the Top 10 for three months, and a few recent music award wins behind him. He gives good press, and people like him. Well, most people like him, but some think he’s an arrogant ass who thinks he’s entitled to whatever he wants, but some people are obviously _wrong_. Someone needing positive attention would benefit from the arrangement, and it might even boost their career.

Obviously, he can’t choose someone unknown because they’d get eaten up and spit out as gold diggers or using him, since the paparazzi love to fuck with people’s lives. No, it’s got to be someone who can act the part without getting fucked over in the end because Jackson might be somewhat desperate to improve his reputation when it comes to romance, but he isn’t actually a jerk. He doesn’t want to ruin someone’s life just to improve his own.

Picking the magazine back up, he starts flipping through it from the beginning, looking at things more critically. He’s trying to find possible candidates based on the negativity of the articles, which seems like a good plan. There’s an article about Matt Daehler’s last album tanking in the charts, but Matt’s a creep who smells bad, so he’s not a possibility. Some Youtube star has just come out and some of the religious nuts aren’t taking it well, but that isn’t something Jackson feels like dealing with. Too much drama, and you can’t rationalize with irrational people. Stiles Stilinski’s last two films have been DOA at the box office, which is actually surprising enough that he stops and scans the article.

Stiles Stilinski is Hollywood’s Golden Boy, a wiseass with a smart mouth who somehow makes himself charming instead of unlikeable. He’s mastered Danny’s skills at being an asshole in disguise. At least, that’s what Jackson thinks since he’s met the guy quite a few times over the decade he’s been making movies. They always end up arguing over something stupid, not seriously but more like…well, flirting, according to Lydia, but Lydia’s totally wrong because Jackson’s got standards. Stiles actually is an excellent actor, not that Jackson’s ever going to feed his ego by acknowledging that, but his amusement at the world around him is more than a little infuriating.

He’s hot, though. Like really hot. He’d been cute when he got his first break at seventeen and stole a star studded movie by playing a homeless thief. Jackson and Lydia had seen the movie on opening night, and he can still remember Lydia whispering into his ear that that kid was going to be a star. He hadn’t really believed it since the guy was all loose limbed and buzz cut and big eyes and clumsy during the Q&A, but there’s still been something about him. A spark that just made it impossible to look away. And now he’s been in multiple big budget films, carried two franchises, and he’s America’s Darling despite being a sarcastic asshole who loves to get under Jackson’s skin.

Without even thinking about it, Jackson pulls out his phone and calls Lydia. When she answers, he asks, “Is Stilinski still single?”

“Hello, Jackson. It’s so wonderful to hear from you. How are you? I’m doing well. Thanks for asking,” Lydia says dryly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m a rude ass. Got it years ago, but feel free to keep telling me.” Jackson stares at the photo of Stilinski and maybe looks at his mouth a little intently. “So, Stilinski. Single?”

“Do I want to ask _why_ you care about Stiles’ relationship status?” Lydia makes a thoughtful noise. “Or is plausible deniability best?”

“I’d choose the latter, especially if you’ve got plans to see Danny anytime soon.” Jackson grins at her groan of disapproval. “Stilinski’s hot, even if he’s an asshole, and I could tolerate dating him for a few months. I just need to know if he’s single before I go make an ass out of myself.”

“You want to date Stiles?” Lydia says slowly, like she’s considering every word. “Does that mean you’ve finally realized that the two of you have been gravitating towards each other for years or are you still in denial about your pining and how much you want to tap his ass?”

“I…what?” Jackson fumbles with his wallet but manages to catch it before he drops it. He slides out his credit card and puts it with the bill the waiter just dropped off. “There’s no pining involved here, Lydia.”

“Denial it is.” Lydia sighs. “Jackson, I love you, but you need to remove your head from your ass before you go asking Stiles out.”

“I’m not going to ask him out.” Jackson scoffs, still reeling a bit from the whole accusation of pining. As if he’d pine like some pathetic insecure nerd instead of just asking a guy to fuck if he was really interested in them. Sure, he enjoys verbally sparring with Stiles when they’re at the same parties, but it’s not a _thing_.

“Then why do you care if he’s single?” Lydia sounds like she’s getting aggravated, which happens a lot, for some reason. “He is, by the way. He had a brief relationship a few years ago, but that broke up, and he hasn’t really dated since. Jackson, if you’re planning some kind of ridiculous scheme, leave Stiles out of it. You know he’s one of my best friends, and I’d really hate having to castrate you if you hurt him.”

“Hey, who says I’d be the one to hurt him?” Jackson huffs as he leaves the restaurant and walks to his car. He spots three paps and rolls his eyes before putting on his sunglasses. He looks great, of course, but that doesn’t mean he likes being stalked by money grubbing parasites all the time. “If you think there’s been pining, who’s to say I wouldn’t be the hurt one?”

“Obviously, I’d be forced to castrate him then,” Lydia says in that ‘talking to her three year old’ way. Jackson is totally more mature than Cody, but she still uses that kid tone on him a lot since becoming a mother.

“Good.” Jackson grins as he puts her on Bluetooth and backs out of the parking lot. “You’d better rate me higher than some pretty boy actor you just befriended a few years ago. We have a past, after all. Anyway, is he on location right now or in town?”

“He’s in town. He just flew in from Rome on Sunday after a film wrap, so he told me he’s sticking around for a couple of months until he signs his next project.” Lydia groans. “Jackson, whatever you’re plotting, just stop and don’t do it. I know that tone of voice, the excited fervor that means you’ve got some brilliant idea that is likely going to go terribly wrong.”

“You should have more faith in me, Lydia. We were engaged once upon a time, remember?” Jackson brings up his address book and types Stiles’ address into his GPS. “This plan is going to be amazing. It’ll be so good that you’ll owe me an apology. Anyway, give Cody a kiss from his favorite Godfather and tell that wife of yours I said hello. Toodle, babe.”

Before she can lecture him anymore, he cuts her off. Now that he’s got this plan in mind, he knows it’s perfect. He likes Stiles well enough to fake date him, and he wouldn’t refuse fucking if it happens to be an option in their deal. Hell, if anything, this might satiate his curiosity about Stiles. Curiosity, desire, lust, whatever. It’s all interchangeable, isn’t it? Lydia’s being a typical woman taking lust and making it pining, not that he’d ever tell her that because she’d punch him and remind him about the whole feminism thing he always tries to respect. Sometimes he fails, but he really does try.

Unlike Jackson, who has a freaking awesome house in the hills overlooking Los Angeles, Stiles lives in some old house in Beverly Grove. He hasn’t actually been inside, but they’ve had the limo drop Stiles off after award parties a few times. The neighborhood is pretty quiet, and Jackson feels a little flashy with his special order GranTurismo speeding through with the top down. Jackson loves fast cars, and he doesn’t mind spending a couple hundred thousand to indulge his habit whenever he wants to add to his collection. This one was shipped to him from Maserati personally, no expense spared, and he’s pretty much in love with it at the moment.

Still, it does look a little out of place when he pulls into the driveway of Stiles’ little house next to a sleek but affordable Mercedes. God. Stiles probably bought that off a _lot_ instead of special ordering, the way Jackson purchases all of his vehicles. A quick once over confirms that it’s some standard model, probably worth about forty thousand, tops, and it doesn’t make sense. He knows what Stiles makes per movie, alright? The guy’s pulling major bank, more than Jackson makes a year as annoying as that happens to be, but he’s living in some renovated old house in a fuddy duddy old neighborhood with a boring car in his driveway.

“Maybe he’s never had anyone stage an intervention and remind him that money can buy expensive shit,” Jackson mutters, getting out of the car and walking to the front door. That’s another thing. There’s no gate. No fence. No security anywhere to keep people away. Stiles is fucking famous, like worldly renowned regardless of how bad his last two movies apparently did, and it’s ridiculous to just be living somewhere so open and vulnerable to paparazzi and crazy stalking fans.

When he reaches the front door, he looks for a doorbell, but there isn’t one. Seriously? Who doesn’t have a damn doorbell in this modern day and age? Fuck, maybe Stiles is secretly immortal like Keanu Reeves, and that’s why he lives in some house from the forties instead of a place more modern and shiny. No, that’s not right because he’s watched Stiles grow up over the last ten years, filling out and growing his hair and becoming a really hot guy instead of a gangly twink.

Since there doesn’t appear to be a doorbell, so freaking crazy, he knocks. Maybe he should have called first? That would have been the polite thing to do, but Jackson figures ambushing Stiles might make him more likely to accept his offer. When there isn’t an answer, he knocks five more times, making sure to use enough force that it’ll be heard throughout the house. At least the tiny dimensions of the place come in handy with no doorbell. Jackson’s house is like five thousand square feet, half of it that he doesn’t even use but at least he’s got it when people come to town to visit, and Stiles’ place could easily fit in his house at least twice. Maybe three times.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles asks as he opens the door. His hair is dripping water, his white shirt clinging to damp skin, and his gray sweats hanging so low on his hips that Jackson doesn’t think it’s possible that he’s wearing any underwear.

That thought sort of short circuits Jackson’s brain, and he just stands there staring while imagining dropping to his knees and tugging those sweats down and…”Your house is tiny,” he blurts out, shaking the sex thoughts from his mind so that his judgement doesn’t get clouded.

“No, it isn’t,” Stiles says, arching a brow and studying him curiously. “It’s a perfect size for one person. Unlike some assholes I might be looking at right now, I don’t need some huge mansion to make myself feel superior.”

“My house doesn’t make me feel superior,” Jackson says, pushing past Stiles since he’s obviously too rude to invite him inside. “You make it sound like I’m trying to compensate for something.”

“Are you?” Stiles shuts the door and turns to look at him. “You see, I don’t have to worry about anything like that because I’ve got a huge dick. So I can buy a house I actually want instead of caring what other people think about it. Now, tell me what you’re doing here without even giving me a warning call so I could make up some non-existent plans to avoid you or I’ll call the police and report you as a trespasser.”

Jackson turns sharply and looks Stiles over, lingering on his crotch and unconsciously licking his lips because, yeah. Stiles doesn’t seem to be lying about that. Looking up, he narrows his eyes when he sees Stiles smirking at him. Fucking wiseass. “I read an interesting article today. Seems your last two movies bombed,” he says bluntly, watching Stiles’ face. “Guess that means you’re losing some of the shine of being the new up and coming young thang.”

“I don’t know what crap you read, but they didn’t bomb,” Stiles denies, and it’s adorable how he’s trying to defend himself. Maybe he just hasn’t accepted reality yet?

“It doesn’t matter. I have a solution for your dilemma,” Jackson announces before he sits on the sofa. He sighs as he sinks into the most comfortable cushions ever, closing his eyes briefly and just enjoying the moment. When he realizes what he’s doing, he opens his eyes to find Stiles giving him that amused ‘I’m better than everyone and the world is merely here for my enjoyment’ smile that always irritates him. “It’s a mutually beneficial solution, of course.”

“Of course,” Stiles drawls, sitting in a comfortable looking chair across from him. His feet are bare, and they’re freakishly long, like his hands. Jackson is distracted for a moment by his fingers, which are tugging on the tight shirt that’s practically see through now that it’s so damp. Damn, Jackson doesn’t remember Stiles having pecs like that during Allison’s pool party last summer. Stiles snaps his fingers suddenly, and Jackson looks up to find him grinning. “While I’m flattered that you’re distracted by my attractive good looks, I’d like to know what the fuck you’re talking about so I can determine if I should kick you out or not.”

“I’m not distracted,” Jackson says, keeping his eyes on Stiles’ face so that he doesn’t actually make himself a liar. Only Stiles’ face is probably the wrong thing to look at. What with those sinful lips and the moles he wants to trace with his tongue and that cute upturned nose and those pretty damn eyes…Okay. Maybe there’s some lustful pining, but it’s not romantic or emotional pining, so Lydia’s still wrong.

“Keep telling yourself that, Jackson.” Stiles drags his fingers through his hair and purses his lips, deliberately taunting him now.

“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” Jackson huffs. “First Danny, now you. I’m surrounded by assholes.”

“Danny’s too sweet to be an asshole.” Stiles smiles slyly. “Me, on the other hand. Well, sweet isn’t often a word used to describe me, that’s for sure. Now explain this mutually beneficial nonsense.”

“Danny says that I’m receiving negative press because of my ‘bad relationship reputation,” Jackson makes air quotes, “and I’ve got a tour announcement coming up, so he wants to do proactive damage control. Since you’re obviously falling off the Hollywood royalty throne based on the numbers for your last two movies, I thought we could help each other out.”

“I’m not on a throne to fall off,” Stiles points out. “And I already told you that my last movies did fine. However, I’m intrigued what plan you came up with that’s supposed to somehow help me out. Also, what kind of bad relationship rep do you have? Are you into really kinky stuff? Do you want to call me Daddy?”

“While I might enjoy being dominated at times, I have no desire to call anyone Daddy,” Jackson says dryly. “Your refusal to admit that you’re losing money at the box office was adorable at first but now it’s just tedious. Inability to face reality is a dangerous aspect psychologically, you realize?” Jackson leans back and sprawls out, unable to help smirking when he notices the way Stiles looks at his thighs and crotch.

“If anyone is avoiding reality, I’d say it’s you, not me.” Stiles takes his time looking him over, biting his bottom lip in a way that makes Jackson’s pulse stutter because, fuck. Why doesn’t he get cast as a seductive temptress in some movie? Temptress isn’t the right word, but Stiles could definitely play the seducer, and Jackson would rent out the damn theater. “What reputation, Jackson?”

Jackson shudders at the way Stiles purrs his name, narrowing his eyes again when he sees Stiles’ lips twitching. “You’re totally fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, straightening up and grinning. “You’ve always been hot for me, but you like to pretend you’re not, so I wanted to see how far I could go before you got provoked.”

“I’m not hot for you, smartass.” He makes a face because it’s a weak protest, at best, and Stiles totally knows. “Some stupid teen magazines are calling me Casanova, like I’m a lothario or something.” Jackson grimaces. “Danny says it’s not being said in a positive way, so I need to settle down for a while, let this batch of rumors pass, then I’ll be able to move on without the negative gossip.”

“You’re here because of what some teen magazine says?” Stiles arches a brow. “Seriously?”

“Newsflash! While you might have suburban housewives wetting their panties for you, my demographic is preteen and teen,” Jackson points out. “I’m a pop star, dumbass. If they start thinking I’m some creepy guy that fucks around all the time or, even worse, that I’m still hung up on Lydia, it’s going to hurt my sales.”

“How does this involve me?” Stiles asks. “I happen to have a huge variety of fans, by the way, not just housewives getting wet for me. But thanks for thinking my sex appeal is my biggest draw instead of, oh, my acting ability.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Asshole.”

“I thought you were some sort of genius, Stiles. Don’t you get it?” Jackson leans forward. “We fake date, get good press, and it helps us both out. It’ll get more butts into the movie seats so maybe your next film won’t bomb, and it’ll appease my fans because they want me to be happy since I’m so awesome.”

“And oh so modest,” Stiles deadpans. He studies Jackson a minute before he taps his fingers on his knee. “So let me see if I understand this. You want to date me to make your fans happy and you somehow think that me being in a serious relationship with you will mean my movies make more money? Can you explain that logic?”

“Damn it. Stop overanalyzing everything. It’s a good plan.” Jackson is not going to pout. Nope. No pouting. This isn’t him pouting at all. “We fake date for a few months and then we can do some amicable break-up.”

“I have a better idea.” Stiles stands up and tugs his sweatpants higher up on his hips before he walks out of the room. He looks over his shoulder. “Coming?”

“I wish,” Jackson mutters, looking up from where he’s been staring at Stiles’ ass. He gets up and follows Stiles into the kitchen. “This is your idea?”

“I’m hungry. Omelets sound good to you?” Stiles starts pulling stuff out of the fridge, and Jackson just watches him. “You can cut the tomatoes and onions. Bacon, ham, or sausage?”

“I don’t like sausage,” Jackson says, wrinkling his nose as he catches the tomato and onion that Stiles tosses at him.

“I thought we had a mutual love for sausage, Jackson.” Stiles looks at him and smirks, waggling his eyebrows like a dork.

Jackson huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. “Not the kind you eat.” He watches Stiles laugh and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I mean, not the kind you _cook_.”

“Ham and cheese it is then.” Stiles gets out more ingredients and starts cooking omelets while Jackson chops up the vegetables. “Now, your plan has a few deficiencies, from what I can see.”

“It does not. It’s an awesome plan.” Jackson feels the urge to stick his tongue out at Stiles, something that makes him feel sort of childish but also carefree in a way he doesn’t get to experience often enough.

“No, it’s not.” Stiles snorts. “It’s a cheesy plan out of some eighties movie starring Brat Pack members. I’m not a member of the Brat Pack, Jackson. Neither are you. Don’t get me wrong. I love the trope as much as the next guy, but it’s not going to work well for us.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Jackson hates cutting onions because they make his eyes sting. “You can’t tell me that you don’t know at least five people in fake relationships right now that are solely for publicity. We live in a world where fake and fame go hand in hand, Stiles.”

“I choose to live in the real world. I bought a house with history to it that I love, and I bought a car that’s got a great safety rating but is pretentious enough to not make me stick out at the studio even if I’d have been just as happy with something a lot cheaper.” Stiles looks up from the block of cheese he’s shredding. “I try to keep my feet on the ground for a reason, you know? All this, it could go away in a snap of my fingers, but I’ll have enough money to live doing whatever makes me happy for the rest of my life. If you get caught up in the bullshit, it can go to your head, and you can lose yourself.”

“My head isn’t in the clouds,” Jackson says, thinking that maybe that’s what Stiles is trying to say without just saying it. He’s going to get a headache if Stiles keeps talking around stuff instead of just being outspoken and blunt like usual. “I’m not in the mood for word games, smartass. Just talk to me.”

“I can’t fake date when I’d rather be dating for you real,” Stiles says, shrugging a shoulder when Jackson gapes at him. “I thought about asking you out before, but Lydia said you were into casual no-repeats, and that’s not my style, so I didn’t bother because I like our sparring friendship. It keeps those boring parties from getting even duller. Since I know I can’t do casual, and that’s all you do, it wouldn’t have been worth messing that up, no matter how hot the sex probably would be.”

“Lydia warned you away?” Jackson is gritting his teeth, trying to accept what Stiles just told him. He wants to date Jackson? Like really date him? Not just for sex? What? How did that happen?

“Yeah, she did,” Stiles admits. “It was years ago, shortly after we first met, and I was still getting used to being recognized, and you’d been seeing that British chick. Lydia thought it was a bad time, and she was right. I wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship then, and neither were you. She said you’d grow up eventually and maybe I could try at that time. So, I guess what I’m wanting to know is whether this is the right time or if you still want something fake with an expiration date.”

“So, what. You want dating without an expiration date?” Jackson stares at Stiles, still not sure that he’s following along. He’s always been a great fuck, but it’s been a hell of a long time since someone wanted to date him for reasons other than his fame or his fortune. Stiles has his own, though, so he must just want Jackson because…he’s not sure why. “Why?”

“Seriously?” Stiles looks at him for a moment before he seems to realize Jackson’s really asking. “Because you’re an asshole with a sense of humor that I like and you’re witty when you forget people are around, when you’re just being yourself instead of Pop Star Jackson Whittemore™. Because I like the way you play with Cody and the way you smile when he grips your fingers when you don’t think anyone’s watching. Because I want to fuck you until you’re hoarse from begging for more and covered in come from how many times I get you off. Because I like you, you stupid fucker.”

“Huh.” Jackson puts the knife he’s holding down and moves around the island quicker than he’d have thought possible. He pins Stiles against it, realizing he’s just a little shorter than Stiles, but not enough to make any difference. Stiles leans into the kiss before Jackson’s mind even catches up to the fact that he’s actually kissing Stiles.

It’s a messy kiss, a little awkward because the angle isn’t so great, and it takes some maneuvering before their noses aren’t smooshed, and then it becomes pretty damn hot. Tongue and teeth and hands under his shirt, and he’s got a hand down the back of Stiles’ sweatpants, squeezing his bare ass as they keep kissing and making out. The sound of the oven timer beeping startles them, and he stumbles back, hands sliding out of Stiles’ sweatpants, which are now barely even hanging on his hips.

“That, uh.” Jackson clears his throat and stares at Stiles’ mouth. “Danny never said it had to be fake. I just figured that’d be easier, less complicated. No risk of any drama or messiness. After breaking up with Lydia and the media circus that happened during and after, I’ve stayed away from anything serious because nothing else has been worth putting up with that shit.”

“I’m not going to pressure you into dating, Jackson.” Stiles drags his fingers through his hair after he’s finished silencing the oven timer. “You just asked me to talk, so I was honest.”

“As if you could pressure me into anything.” Jackson snorts, lips twitching slightly. “You’re last two movies were failures, babe. I’m more marketable than you right now.”

“They were _not_ flops!” Stiles throws his hands up in the air. “They were independent films and critical successes. I’ve been nominated for a fucking best actor Oscar, which is all a bunch of political bullshit but still a pretty damn big deal. Some stupid reporters who don’t understand anything about the film industry made judgments based on numbers without seeing the cost of production versus profit.”

“Oh.” Jackson bites the inside of his cheek because, yeah, that was a pretty big mistake on his part, but it’s not like he’s in the movie industry, either.

Still, if he hadn’t read that article, he wouldn’t have fixated on Stiles being the person he settled down with, all in a fake way at the time but, _fine_ , maybe there’d been some very small, minute, tiny little hope that it could lead to something not so fake. Maybe. If he’s totally honest with himself, which he tends to avoid being because ugh. Honesty makes him have to admit stuff he’d rather avoid thinking about. Like the slim, very very very slim, possibility that there might have been a smidgeon of pining. Not that he’ll ever confirm that to Lydia since he wouldn’t ever hear the end of it.

“Well, I guess that means you’re going to need a date for the Oscars, huh?” Jackson arches a brow and smiles slyly. “I happen to know a single guy who might be interested.”

“Do you?” Stiles bites his lip to keep from laughing, and Jackson feels like preening at causing that smile.

“I do,” he confirms. “He’s ridiculously attractive, extremely wealthy, and excellent in bed.”

“There’s that lovely modesty again. Is he interested in dating or only out for something casual?” Stiles takes a step closer to him.

“Casual is his usual MO, but I have it on good authority that he’s reconsidering his options and would be open to being wooed,” Jackson drawls, grinning when Stiles barks out a laugh.

“Wooed, huh?” Stiles has reached him now, not that difficult since it’s a small kitchen. “So this guy, he’s a closet romantic, huh?”

“Possibly,” Jackson says, dragging out the word. “Guess you’ll have to date him to find out.”

“The Oscars aren’t for another month,” Stiles points out, probably aware that Jackson doesn’t really pay attention to that shit beyond whatever invites and parties get put in his social calendar by his assistant. “What if I want a date sooner than that?”

“I guess you’ll have to ask and see what he says,” Jackson teases, staring at Stiles’ mouth for a moment before looking into his eyes. He leans in and whispers against Stiles’ ear. “I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes. It seems that he’s kinda easy when it comes to you.”

“Kinda easy, huh? I like the sound of that,” Stiles murmurs before he’s tugging Jackson’s hair, making him lean back, then he’s kissing him.

There’s no awkwardness this time. They know exactly how to move, deepening the kiss and touching and grinding and letting it escalate a lot faster than they probably should but Jackson’s never been one for following society’s made up rules anyway. Chemistry is obviously not going to be a problem for them. Neither is sexual attraction. He’s half-hard just from making out like a horny teenager, and he can feel a bulge pressing against his thigh that he can’t wait to be formally introduced to later.

Stiles is the one who pulls away, and Jackson totally doesn’t make a whiny needy noise and try to pull him back in for another kiss. Nope. Not him. The noise he doesn’t make causes Stiles to smile as he strokes Jackson’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I love your freckles. I’m going to play connect the dots with my tongue one day, just so you’re aware,” Stiles says, smirking when Jackson feels warmth on his cheeks.

“Stop trying to make me blush, smartass,” he mumbles, mock glaring at Stiles, who just grins wider.

“So, this guy that you know. Does he have a name?” Stiles teases, tracing Jackson’s lips with his fingers. “Cause, I’ve gotta admit, right now, I’m thinking a great first date might be some homemade omelets and then maybe going for a drive along the coast since I’ve heard this guy you know has a sexy convertible that I’d love to open up on a deserted road somewhere.”

“That does sound like a great first date, only with more making out and less you driving my car,” Jackson says, pulling Stiles back in close to him. “By the way, I accept the whole real dating offer you’ve got planned.”

“Complications and all?” Stiles asks, looking serious for a moment. No, not serious. Vulnerable. Like he’s not sure Jackson means it.

Jackson leans in and kisses him thoroughly before smiling. He whispers against Stiles’ mouth, “Yeah. Complications and all.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://inell.tumblr.com)


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